The Lucky List

By Rachael Lippincott

Rachael Lippincott, coauthor of #1 New York Times bestseller Five Feet Apart, weaves a “breezy…truly charming” (Kirkus Reviews) love story about learning who you are, and who you love, when the person you’ve always shared yourself with is gone.

Emily and her mom were always lucky. But Emily’s mom’s luck ran out three years ago when she succumbed to cancer, and nothing has felt right for Emily since.

Now, the summer before her senior year, things are getting worse. Not only has Emily wrecked things with her boyfriend Matt, who her mom adored, but her dad is selling the house she grew up in and giving her mom’s belongings away. Soon, she’ll have no connections left to Mom but her lucky quarter. And with her best friend away for the summer and her other friends taking her ex’s side, the only person she has to talk to about it is Blake, the swoony new girl she barely knows.

But that’s when Emily finds the list—her mom’s senior year summer bucket list—buried in a box in the back of her closet. When Blake suggests that Emily take it on as a challenge, the pair set off on a journey to tick each box and help Emily face her fears before everything changes. As they go further down the list, Emily finally begins to feel close to her mom again, but her bond with Blake starts to deepen, too, into something she wasn’t expecting. Suddenly Emily must face another fear: accepting the secret part of herself she never got a chance to share with the person who knew her best.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Simon & Schuster Books for Young Readers
• Release date: Jun 1, 2021
• ISBN: 9781534468559

Rachael Lippincott

Rachael Lippincott is the coauthor of All This Time, #1 New York Times bestseller Five Feet Apart, She Gets the Girl, and Make My Wish Come True and the author of The Lucky List and Pride and Prejudice and Pittsburgh. She holds a BA in English writing from the University of Pittsburgh. Originally from Bucks County, Pennsylvania, she currently resides in Pennsylvania with her wife, daughter, and dog, Hank.

Book preview

1

I brought the lucky quarter.

I don’t know why I did. I’d walked past it hundreds and hundreds of times without a second thought while a thin layer of dust formed around the edges. But there was just something about the way it was sitting there tonight, on the same bookshelf where it had sat untouched for three years.

Tonight I swear it looked…

Lucky.

I cringe as that word pops into my head, an image of blue eyes and long brown hair following it, never too far behind. Luck was my mom’s thing. Not mine. But I still reach my hand into my pocket to feel the smooth metal, my thumbnail finding that familiar nick on the edge just above George Washington’s head.

This’ll be fun, my dad whispers to me, turning around in the card-buying line to give me a big, blindingly hopeful smile. A smile that acts like we didn’t just spend the past three years before tonight avoiding absolutely every possible reminder of her.

I snort. ‘Fun’ is definitely not the first word that comes to mind, I whisper back to him as I scan the room, taking in the absolute zoo that is the Huckabee School District monthly bingo fundraiser. Even after all this time away, almost nothing has changed. My eyes move past two old ladies locked in a heated arm-wrestle battle over a premium spot near the speaker, over to Tyler Poland with his collection of rocks, each one laid carefully out in size order on top of his five coveted bingo cards.

Chaotic, maybe. Chaotic would be a good word to use.

But not even the chaos of elderly people arm wrestling and prized rock collections can distract me from my uneasiness at being back here. And not just because of what this place meant to me and my mom.

For someone who just succeeded in blowing up her entire social life three weeks ago at junior prom, there is literally no worse place to be. Unfortunately, with said social life in shambles, that also means there wasn’t a single thing I could claim to be doing to get out of coming.

And I can’t talk to my dad about what happened, or about pretty much anything for that matter, so here I am. Stuck Scarlet Lettering my way around, while Dad shamelessly uses this fundraiser as a mini–high school reunion. Because tonight is conveniently the night his best friend, Johnny Carter, is moving back into town after twenty years away.

I say conveniently because if you want to jump straight back into the deep end of Huckabee society, this is certainly the splashiest way to do it. I mean, half their graduating class is probably still sitting in this room.

Once a month the elementary school cafetorium is turned into a group audition for a rural-Pennsylvania mash-up of My Strange Addiction and WWE SmackDown. Don’t believe me? Back in fifth grade, Mrs. Long, the sweetest little angel of a kindergarten teacher, decked Sue Patterson square in the face because she thought Sue was intentionally not calling any B numbers.

What’s even more unbelievable is that she was right.

I’m going to get Johnny’s and Blake’s cards for them, my dad says, choosing to ignore my skepticism, as he pulls out his billfold. You know how hard it is to find parking.

He’s acting like I was just here last week, instead of three whole years ago.

I shrug as nonchalantly as I can muster, watching him buy three cards off Principal Nelson, the whiskery middle school principal, and the only one trusted enough for the past ten years to hand out the bingo cards without need for suspicion. There was a whole series of town council meetings and six months of rigorous debate before he was approved for the position.

Emily! Glad to see you here, Principal Nelson says to me, that all-too-familiar sympathetic glint in his eyes. I grimace internally since Glad to see you here automatically translates to some variation of We haven’t seen you since your mom died! He begins rifling through the massive deck of bingo cards and pulls out a small worn card, holding it out to me. You want you and your mom’s card? Number 505! I still remember!

I wince slightly as my eyes trace the familiar crease straight down the center of the card, landing finally on the red splotch in the upper right-hand corner, where I spilled fruit punch when I was six. I hate these moments the most. The moments when you think you are healed just enough, and then something as simple as a bingo card makes every fiber feel raw.

Number 505.

When I was born on the fifth day of the fifth month, Mom’s superstitious mind lit up like a Christmas tree, and she swore five was our lucky number. So that number became intertwined with everything in our lives, from the number of times I had to scrub behind my ears, to my sports-team jerseys when I attempted one spring’s worth of T-ball and one fall’s worth of soccer, to lucky quarters she pressed into my palm, whispering about how it was extra special since twenty-five was five squared.

Extra-special lucky quarters that would one day collect dust on a bookshelf. Until tonight.

But I shake my head at him. No thanks.

There’s a long, uncomfortable pause, and my dad glances at me before quickly pulling another wrinkled five out of his billfold and holding it out to Principal Nelson. I’ll take it. Thanks, Bill.

You shouldn’t have done that, I mumble to my dad as we walk away, Principal Nelson shooting me an even more sympathetic look now.

It’s just bingo, Em, he says to me as we zigzag our way to a free table and sit down across from each other. Blake can take it if you don’t want it. He looks down at the cards as he says it, though, refusing to meet my gaze.

As if this all wasn’t awkward enough, Johnny’s daughter, Blake, is coming. Which I’m still not sure how to feel about yet. We got along pretty well back when we were kids, but I haven’t seen her since Christmas a decade ago, when we almost set my house on fire trying to set a booby trap for Santa. Which is not exactly a conversation starter at this point, especially since we’re about to be seniors in high school, instead of wide-eyed second graders. Still, she doesn’t know anyone else here.

Which after tonight she will probably think is a good thing. Especially if things get dramatic.

Or, knowing the people in this room like I do, when things get dramatic.

I hear a laugh and my eyes automatically dart past Dad to the back corner table, where familiar long fingers comb through a familiar mess of brown hair.

Matt.

My stomach sinks straight through the floor as a sea of eyes returns my stare. Jake, Ryan, and Olivia, my former friend group, are shooting daggers at me from across the room, expressions angry enough to pronounce me guilty of first-degree murder.

But I guess after prom, all the evidence would suggest, that’s… a pretty fair verdict.

Matt doesn’t look over, though. His gaze stays fixed on the table in front of him, his dark eyebrows knit together in concentration as he shifts his body to face pointedly away from me. Which is somehow a million times worse than the glares.

I’m surprised to see they’re here tonight. In the summer we’d usually all be hanging out at the Huckabee Pool after close or playing Ping-Pong in Olivia’s enormous basement.

Then again, I guess I was the only thing stopping them from going to bingo night. I guess this is what summer nights can look like without me.

I pull my eyes away as my dad slides card number 505 in front of me. I’m not going to play, I say. This whole thing is already starting to feel out of control. This is one thing I can decide.

How about you play for me then? he says as he shakes a bunch of red chips out of a white Styrofoam cup. I watch as they shower down in front of me, forming a small pile. If that card happens to win, I keep the prize basket.

I stare at him, unamused. Why he even wants to play is beyond me.

Although, I guess this has kind of been his thing lately. Pretending things don’t have meaning when they actually do.

Talk about my mom? Never in a million years.

Get rid of her stuff? Definitely.

Go to the monthly bingo fundraiser she religiously attended as if she didn’t? Absolutely.

The ‘Football Fan Fiesta’ basket, preferably, he adds, giving me a big wink as Olivia’s mom, Donna Taylor, the head of the PTA and former prom queen (rumored to have literally bought the vote for both those elections) finally comes trotting onto the stage.

You know what? Fine. The sooner we start playing, the sooner I can get out of here.

All righty! Everybody ready to get started? she calls into the microphone before flashing a practiced pageant smile to the crowd.

Fuck yeah! Jim Donovan shouts from two tables over, causing a wave of laughter to travel around the room.

A couple more of those out of old Jim over there, and Donna’s gonna purse the lip filler right out of those babies, my dad whispers to me, his dark brown eyes crinkling at the corners as he gives me one of his smirking grins.

I shake my head, stifling a real laugh for the first time all night.

Huckabee has a weird disconnect, and Donna Taylor and Jim Donovan are the perfect examples of it. You’ve got the Donnas, in their McMansions, or newly renovated farmhouses as they like to call them, their husbands working nine to five in the city while they watch the kids and meet their mom gang at Pilates five days a week. And then you’ve got the Jim Donovans, living just a few miles south on farms that’ve been passed down since Betsy Ross first started messing around with designs for the American flag.

My dad is a slightly less yeehaw Jim Donovan. Born and raised in Huckabee, with the four generations before him sharing the Joseph Clark name. This town is so embedded in his blood, he’d probably crumble to dust if he crossed the limits. So, I guess it’s good Johnny’s moving back or Dad’d never see him.

Will you man Blake’s card for me? my dad asks, sliding yet another card across the table at me.

For real? For someone who didn’t want to play bingo, I sure was about to play a lot of it.

They’ll be here in a few minutes, he says, distracted, as he nods to his beat-up cell phone, the cracked screen opened to a text from Johnny. They just found a spot.

I’m about to say I’d rather watch old Jim over there win the tractor pull for the fifth straight year at the county fair, but the familiar sound of the tiny yellow balls rattling around the ball cage stops me. I look up at the stage, and for a lingering moment I’m transported back by the sea of numbers just waiting to be called.

I learned how to count in this very room, sliding red chips over numbers as I sat on my mom’s lap, rattling off the number of spaces we needed to win. My mom and I came every month for as long as I can remember, and we won nearly every time. We used to bask on a throne of wicker baskets and cellophane. All our winnings, Mom always said, were thanks to card number 505 and my lucky quarter.

The gossip was endless. Half the room was convinced we were cheating, while the other half was convinced we were just the luckiest two people in all of Huckabee township, my mom’s charm making it pretty difficult for anyone to think bad of her. Even when the odds would suggest it.

I couldn’t set foot in the convenience store without getting asked about a set of lottery numbers. I even apparently helped Paul Wilson win $10,000 on a Fourth of July scratch-off, which he spent on a finger-losing patriotic pyrotechnic show a week later.

Then, when I was fourteen, my mom died, and any luck I had got blown to smithereens, just like Paul Wilson’s finger.

Since then I’ve avoided this place like the plague. I’m not interested in trying my luck anymore, even if it’s as simple as playing a game of bingo.

But watching Donna Taylor pick up a yellow ball in between her soft-pink acrylic nails, I feel the same pull I felt when Principal Nelson held up the fruit-punch-stained, crease-down-the-middle bingo card.

A feeling like that bingo cage inside me is one spin away from all the balls tumbling out.

The first number of the night, Donna calls into the microphone, pausing as a group of elementary school kids three tables over start a drumroll. I catch a glimpse of Sue Patterson sitting in the corner just beside them, actively saying the rosary and sprinkling holy water over her set of four cards.

"B-twelve!" she calls, eliciting a cheer from some and groans of disappointment from others.

I reach out to grab a chip, knowing even before I look that it’s on card 505. Even now I could name every number in every row, the card ingrained in my memory like a home address or a favorite song.

I hesitate over the chip pile and cast a quick glance down to see that it’s on Blake’s card too. As I slide the red chips over the respective twelves, I look over to see Jim Donovan eyeing me like this is the start line for the hundred-meter dash at the Olympics and I’m here to win gold. I stare back at him, amused that I’m counted as any kind of competition after three whole years, a swell of my long-forgotten competitiveness pulling my lips up into a smirk.

Donna calls a few more numbers: I-29, G-48, B-9, O-75, I-23, and N-40. Slowly the cards start to fill up, people eagerly eyeing one another’s to compare, the cellophane over the stacked prize baskets in the front of the room glittering underneath the fluorescent cafetorium lights.

I catch sight of a basket filled with movie theater popcorn and a $100 gift card to the historic movie theater in the center of town, which Matt and I always used to go to on date nights, resting in the exact center. The thought of Matt makes my cheeks burn, and I have to resist the urge to look at him, just past my dad, a wave of guilt keeping my eyes glued to the table in front of me as I slide the red chips carefully into place, one after the other.

Good thing I got those extra cards! my dad says to me, letting out a long exhale as he shakes his head. I’m striking out over here.

I glance over to see he has somehow managed to get only a single number past the free space. Oh my gosh, I say, laughing. How is that even possible?

Dang. Look at you, Clark, a voice says from just over my right shoulder. Still can’t count for shit.

My dad’s face lights up as Johnny Carter’s thin, tan arm reaches across the table to give him a firm handshake. I haven’t seen him this excited since Zach Ertz caught that touchdown pass during the Super Bowl the winter before my mom died, securing the win for the Eagles.

I look up to see that Johnny looks almost exactly like he did when they visited for Christmas ten years ago, plus a few extra wrinkles. A loose white button-down hangs limply on his tall, lanky frame, while a mess of dirty-blond hair sits atop his head. He’s even unironically wearing a puka-shell necklace, and actually pulling it off.

But I guess you can do that when you peaced out to Hawaii six months before high school graduation to become a surfing legend.

Hey, Em, a voice says from next to me, as the person it’s attached to slides onto the bench beside me.

My head swivels to the other side to see Blake.

I’m fully expecting to see a slightly taller version of the lanky seven-year-old who wore oversize T-shirts and had apparently never heard of a hairbrush, but that’s definitely not who just sat down next to me.

It’s safe to say Blake won the puberty lotto a million and one times over.

Her skin is a deep glowing tan, a color that nobody else in Huckabee has by the end of August, let alone now in early July. Her hair is long and wavy, darker than her dad’s but with the same bright streaks of blond, like the sun rays that put them there.

It’s her eyes, though, that startle me the most. Long eyelashes giving way to a warm, almost liquid honey brown. Ten years ago they were hidden behind a pair of glasses bigger than the state of Texas. Now they’re on full display.

And I’m not the only one noticing. Literally everyone is looking at our table right now. So much for flying under the radar.

I have your card, I blurt out, once I realize I haven’t actually said anything back to her. Her eyes swing down to look at the two cards in front of me, and I slide hers over, careful not to send the chips scattering everywhere.

Could it be any more obvious I’ve been a social pariah for the past three weeks?

Thanks, Blake says, smiling at me, the gap in her teeth the only constant between the girl sitting in front of me and the girl that convinced me setting off sparklers indoors would scare Santa just enough to get us both ponies.

You’re one away from a bingo in two places, I add, like that’s not completely obvious.

I hear Donna call out a number, but it’s nothing more than a hum in my left ear, my fingers wrapping instinctively around the quarter in my pocket.

Hey! Lucky you. Blake’s eyes widen in excitement, and she holds up a red chip, reaching over to carefully slide it onto my board. You just beat me to it.

Bingo.

2

Everyone in Huckabee knows that you can’t go to a bingo fundraiser in the summer without going to get ice cream after. It’d be like going to the movies and not getting popcorn. Or going to the pool and forgetting your swimsuit.

There would be no point in going.

Sam’s Scoops is a block away from Huckabee Elementary, and the large crowd of people leaving the cafetorium and heading toward it trails the entire distance between the two.

Luckily, we’re one of the first few groups out the door.

I power walk across the gravel parking lot, my dad and Johnny a few steps ahead of me, Blake crunching noisily just behind them. I have to jog every couple of seconds just to keep up with this above-average-height crew.

You’re bringing your prize basket to get ice cream? Blake asks me, cutting through my staring contest with a Carson Wentz bobblehead wedged between a rolled-up T-shirt and an Eagles hat. She slows down ever so slightly, until our feet fall into a steady rhythm on the gravel. You doing a victory lap or something?

I try not to snort at the idea of me parading proudly around with my dad’s Football Fan Fiesta basket like I’d just won a Golden Globe. Although, to be fair, that’s not out of character for some people in this town. I’ve heard of someone keeping the highly coveted, still shrink-wrapped Wine ’n’ Cheese basket on their mantel for ten years, just to spite their in-laws. The cheese definitely got moldy, but it was never about that anyway.

I tighten my grip on the wicker basket, the plastic around it crinkling noisily. If I put it in the car, we’ll be waiting two hours to get ice cream.

It’s the truth. The army of bingo goers converging on Sam’s Scoops right now should be enough to give Sam and the three servers at the window carpal tunnel. A trip to my dad’s car would have put us at the very back of the line, just as their arms are about to splinter into a million pieces. My mom and I figured out that scoops got 25 percent smaller and drippier if you got stuck near the end.

And after today I’m pretty sure I deserve a full-size scoop.

So I guess you come here a lot, she says as the end of the line approaches. We’ve managed to walk fast enough to have only about ten people standing in between us and homemade iced sugary goodness.

Not so much anymore, I say.

Thankfully, she doesn’t ask me why. Instead, her eyebrows lift. "Wait. Please tell me this place is actually called Sam’s Oops?"

The red-lettered light-up sign just above the white and blue shack has the Sc in Scoops out, and I laugh at the fact that most of the town is so used to it, we don’t even notice it anymore. Kind of? That sign hasn’t been fixed in five years, so it’s become the unofficial nickname for this place.

What’s your go-to? she asks as she cranes her neck to squint over the long line of people at the menu board. It makes me wonder if she still wears those big-as-Texas glasses at night when she takes her contacts out.

Chocolate and vanilla twist on a cone with rainbow sprinkles, I answer automatically, turning my attention to the front window. "I haven’t had one in years, though." I can already feel my mouth watering, despite the pang of sadness that comes with the realization that the last time I was here was with my mom.

"Man. If you think you haven’t had an ice-cream cone from Sam’s in years, Johnny says, tallying it up on his fingers. Clark, it’s gotta be two decades since we last came here together. The summer before senior year. You remember?"

My dad nods, grinning. You got mint chocolate chip in a cone, and I smashed it into your face about fifteen seconds after you paid. Had to get you back for pantsing me in front of the whole cheerleading squad.

They both start laughing, shaking their heads in unison.

I exchange a quick look with Blake, both of us rolling our eyes at the long night of nostalgia ahead of us.

Your mom was so mad at him, Johnny says, turning to look at me, the bright light from the street lamp overhead shining directly on my face. He stops laughing, giving me a long, slightly uncomfortable look. I know exactly what’s coming before he says it.

Phew. I just can’t get over how much you look like Jules.

It’s a variation of a sentence I’ve heard more times than I can count.

You look just like your mom.

You’re practically a clone of Julie!

You two could be twins!

I used to love when people would say things like that. Now I can’t seem to get away from it, her face haunting me every time I look in the mirror. Long, pin-straight brown hair, strong eyebrows, full lips.

But not her eyes. The eyes that I miss so much are never there looking back at me, no matter how much I wish they were.

Instead of her blueberry blue, I have my dad’s dark, dark brown. If it weren’t for that singular feature, you would never guess I was related to him. His height gene whizzed right on past me.

Doesn’t she? my dad says, giving me one of his sad smiles.

And just like that he clears his throat and clams up, like he always does when Mom comes up. I watch as he pulls his eyes away from mine. "Did I tell you about that construction gig

Reviews for The Lucky List

[Noemi Hernandez · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

My emotions were like a roller coaster. It made me giggle and laugh out loud. I did in fact said “aww” most of the time. I also cried, someone was definitely cutting onions. But seriously, this was a very cute read!

[Kate · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

This is such a poignant and wholesome story about self-discovery, friendship, love and grief. ?

[Maja Zu · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

Cozy, heartfelt summer vibes. This book was a warm summer day in the best way possible.

[grgenius_1 · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

Emily was a dear, but struggling so, so hard against, life, against, death, against her very sense of self, and all that fighting has wrung her life plum dry. Her friends don't know what to say or do. Her father can't carry on a conversation anytime his wife/her mother is mentioned. To put it simply, her life is spiraling out of control...at least it was until Blake came along. She's the ray of sunshine on a stormy cloud filled day. She's the one you'd want to choose for your ride or die. She's the new kid in town, but also a blast from the past, and while making waves in little ole Huckabee was never her intent, you can't fly under the radar when you come to a small town. Thing is, outside all the exterior pluses, she's got a heart of gold, and it seems she's the one person that will not only listen to Emily, but wants to spend time with her and get her back out there, LIVING again. But sometimes relationships are bigger than they at first seem, and when they grow out of our control, revealing things we weren't certain were hidden in the first place...you can get spooked, start making the wrong decisions, and ultimately break your own heart. Let's hope that Emily is made of stronger stuff, and if by chance she's not, that she at least can pick up the pieces to start again.

Like I said, I really enjoyed this one from start to finish. Meeting Emily in her lost state was refreshingly real. Seeing her navigate life and times after a parent passes was hard, but you could see her honestly trying to struggle through. The unintentional break from her crew wasn't timely, but it did afford her the chance to realign expectations, discover things that were there the whole time, and reconnect with not only her self, but her mom, believe it or not. The whole list concept was a great way to have an impartial catalyst to get things moving, and the bond that it built, or rather solidified between mother and daughter, while bringing everyone else together, was pure magic.


**copy received for review; opinions are my own

[geauxgetlit · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

This is a coming of age book whose protagonist, Emily, is a senior in high school who is still coping with the loss of her mother who died of cancer three years ago. She discovers in an old yearbook of her mothers a bucket list that her mother wrote. She decides to follow in her mother's footsteps, because she herself feels lost. Her friend Blake, whom is a lesbian, is by her side the entire time. In the end she finally figures out what has been missing from her life and it isn’t only her mother, it’s her true identity. That she herself is actually gay as well.

If you are looking for a cute fun summer read I totally this one, especially now during pride month!

[edgoldberg · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Ever since Emily's mother died of cancer three years ago, things haven't been right. Her on again, off again relationship with Matt, is off again after she kissed another boy at junior prom. Her relationship with Matt, just didn't feel right, even though her mother said to give him a chance, so he was so attentive during her illness.It's notw the summer between junior and senior year. Her dad is forcing Emily to go through her mom's things in order to sell the house she's lived in all her life. Enter, Blake, a childhood friend who moved to Hawaii and is now returning. As Blake helps her, Emily comes upon a Summer List that her mom prepared 20 uears earlier. Balke suggests that they do it this summer. And so they do.As the summer progresses, the two girls get closer . I'll leave the rest up to you to find out.It is a fun summer read.

[twink_2 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Rachael Lippincott is the co-author of Five Feet Apart, which I really enjoyed. She's just released her solo novel, The Lucky List.Emily and her mother were really close. Were, because three years ago her mom died - and nothing has felt right since. As Emily and her dad begin to pack up things for an imminent move, Emily finds a bucket list her mother made back in her high school days. And suddenly she knows - she has to do the same list....Lippincott takes the reader back to the final days of high school. And all the angst, drama, friendships, relationships and the question of what's next. But Lippincott puts more on Emily's plate - unresolved grief over her mother's death and questioning her sexuality. Emily is a great protagonist and I thought she was well drawn. Her actions, reactions, internal turmoil and more, are realistic and believable. Blake seems a little too perfect at first, but she seems to know herself more and has confidence in who she is. Lippincott has written the burgeoning relationship in a measured, thoughtful manner. I was a bit skeptical of the relationship Emily had with her dad. He makes a decision without consulting Emily that I thought was a bit of a reach. But, we all grieve in out own way. The supporting cast is filled in with old family friends and high school friends, each with roles to play.Well done. I chose to listen to The Lucky List. The reader was Rebekkah Ross. I've listened to other books she's narrated and I really like her voice. Its pleasant to listen to, clear, and easy to understand. Her voice is believable as a teenage girl. Her narration is very expressive and has movement, easily capturing the emotion of the book.